Chasing the Light
by my hubby is no edward
Summary: Bella often finds herself seeking out a light source to keep the hidden shadows of her haunting memories at bay. What happens when she finds that glowing warmth wrapped in the arms of someone just as broken as she is? AH/OOC M for lemons, language, etc.


I'm trying something a little new and a lot different. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll know that I've had quite the emo past few days. Well, this is the result of that, a new story that just poured right out of me. For those reading my other stories, you can call this procrastination (you'd probably be partially right), but I'd like to think of it as cheap therapy. If I'm being completely honest, writing this was very cathartic. This story contains dark themes, so please, if you can't vote or buy cigarettes, I ask that you leave now.

_**WARNING**_**: Although I won't often go into very descriptive detail, this story will contain flashbacks and recollections of abuse (in all its forms). If you are easily triggered or can't tolerate the subject matter, I politely request that you hit the "back" button now. Also, in the form of a coping mechanism and overall teenage debauchery, this story contains underage drinking, drug use, sex, and profanity.**

**Disclaimer:** All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

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"**Chasing the Light"**

"**Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."**

**~Terry Pratchett**

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**Chapter 1**

"You want another hit?" he asks, his voice delicious and sweet like drizzled caramel. Reflexively, I lick my lips and nod.

I watch him in a slight daze, shrouded green eyes beneath dark feathered lashes that peek at me from behind the silver tendrils of smoke. The ominous fog filled with the scent of herbs curls around his angular face, slithering between plump, parted lips and wrapping languidly around the stubble on his structured jawline. The sight of his hooded eyes lingering on the curves of my body causes the blood to quicken in my veins, and I close my hands into fists beside my body, my natural fight or flight reflexes kicking into overdrive. Slowly, with his eyes trained purposefully on me, he brings the blunt to his lips and inhales, the embers at the end of the cigar burning bright orange as he pulls the mixture into his lungs with a hiss. Much like a panther, his shoulders bunching and rolling below the dark thermal of his shirt, he stalks on all fours toward my perch in the corner of the abandoned stand-one possibly built to hunt the large deer that wander below, but it's been long forgotten- and his limbs glide over the surface of mine, his torso millimeters above me. He takes the tips of his fingers and tilts my chin upward until I'm looking at him, panting loudly from both his proximity and his touch. As he leans in, his heady scent explodes around me and entices my lips to part as a smirk gathers at the corner of his mouth. He knows the effect he has on me.

My eyes focus solely on his, darkened jade illuminated with secrets unknown by me, as he gently blows the smoke into my mouth. Greedily, I draw the cloud between my lips, savoring the distinct taste of marijuana on my tongue, and pinch my lips together tightly to imprison it there. My lungs and chest begin to burn, but I hold my breath and pray that the featherlight feeling that's sure to accompany its intake will settle deep inside my bones. Closing my lids and letting my head drop against the wall behind me, I release the narcotic at an unhurried lover's pace, holding tight to the wisps that emerge and dance between my slackened lips. A lazy smile creeps across my face as my eyes flutter open, gasping lightly when I find Edward's hungry stare looming over me. I bite my bottom lip and stare up at him from between my lashes which causes his gaze to harden further, electricity sparking around us as the temperature between our bodies steadily rises.

His finger traces the length of my jaw and down my throat, splitting the top of my button-down shirt as his eyes fixate on the visible cleavage he finds there. My skin pebbles and the blood rushes to the surface to greet his touch as a shiver dives down the slope of my spine. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and I follow the movement, shuddering briefly when I remember the first time his tongue pressed against the most private parts of my body over three months ago. Taking the roach, the end of the blunt and the only trace of our illegal activity remaining between his fingers, he crushes it against the wood and maneuvers across my body to place it beside his leather jacket. "Might need it for later," he murmurs huskily, more to himself than to me.

I roll my eyes when Charlie's voice filters into my head, remembering a conversation he had with me when I was ten, "Bella, stay in school, drug's aren't cool." Ever the Police Chief of Forks, but a concerned father above all else. What would he think of all that happened after his death? Tears prickle at my eyes when I think of him. I still miss him immensely even though he's been gone for two years.

The loud scrape of metal on wood- probably his watch- brings me back to the present and he regards me with sad eyes. I wonder often of his family. Are any members of his bloodline still alive or are they all dead like mine? Is there anyone to protect and cherish him like he deserves? I don't know him well, but everyone should be loved.

We both are looking to escape something. He never asks me about my problems, nor do I ask him his, but we both know that the other has issues. Ones that we keep at bay by allowing toxins to inhabit our body so we don't have to remember. The only evidence I have of his pain was a day over a month ago, a rare one where we actually spoke instead of chiefed and fucked. He had whispered into the cold air of the afternoon, "I know what it's like, or at least I think I do. Your secrets are your own, but I'm sure we have things in common, more than you would think. I stare every _motherfucking_ day at the same eyes that hurt me so many times before. That _bitch_ may be dead, but her eyes still haunt me in the mirror." I'm glad he doesn't make me talk; I don't want to. My heart rate spikes when an unsolicited memory of my own withheld secret floods my mind: bald head, deep blue eyes, tattoo of a large sun on his left pectoral muscle, grunting and swearing of an alcoholic's breath on my skin until his heavy body fell limply over mine. Bile rises up my throat as a grimace tugs at my lips. _Fucking Phil. _

Cautious fingers brush against my temple and tuck a wayward curl behind my ear. Offering a tentative smile, I flush and notice that his eyes are no longer desirous but filled with compassion, understanding. "Hey you, come back to me," he beckons with a voice that resonates softly in my mind. I swallow hard, fighting against the demons of my past, and try to focus on the here and now. _That bastard can't lay a finger on you anymore, anywa__y__, _my subconscious reminds me, and I'm thankful.

I raise my hand and entangle my fingertips in the crazed tresses of his auburn hair at the base of his neck, bringing his lips down to mine as I try to calm my already labored breathing. Pushing his tongue between my lips, the tip swirls with mine and we both groan as we battle for dominance. Whose needs are greater? Who wants to forget more? It's always this same struggle between us- who will give, who will take? I take pride in the fact that he seems to need me just as much as I need him; that is, when we both aren't trying to run away.

_ Live in the now, live in the now, _my wordless mantra is set on repeat in my brain as he pulls my body down to the cold, wooden floor and hovers over me, his lips never leaving mine. I lift my hips, eager to feel him against me, to keep me rooted in the present as a strangled moan rumbles in his chest. I run my fingers over his shirt-clad chest, relishing in the sinew and muscle I feel flexing below it, instantly yearning for more. Long, lean, but oh-so-fragile, like me. He's like me.

I taste it on his skin- the weed, the craving, the desperation- as I sink my teeth into the flesh above the collar of his shirt and he grunts, thrusting his hips into me. I moan loudly and it echos around the small space, but on the inside, I'm starting to panic. Pulling my ponytail gently to the side, he moves his mouth over mine and I sigh as the tip of his tongue traces the contours on the inside of my lips. Our jointed breaths fog and mingle around my face in the chilling air of the evening atmosphere as my nipples harden beneath the fabric of my bra. They miss his touch- _Edward's_ touch, even though it's only been a day since they felt it last. Unconsciously- _or maybe not_- my hips begin to writhe against the bulge in his jeans seeking the friction and burn I know he can provide. But still, my hairs rise up on end, my breathing becoming shallow. Realistically, I want this and I want him, but my mind is trying to lock my body away in a time and place I don't want to be. _Live in the now, live in the now. For the love of God, Bella, live in the now._ I open my eyes and see Edward, and this makes me smile.

The glowing light of the sun glints in through the window, framing his profile in frightening shadow and astounding light. He's so incredibly breathtaking. When he raises up to remove his shirt, the light bounces gold outward, reflecting off the ends of his hair like a halo, catching my breath in my throat. He pauses with his hand on the cotton hem, his face an unreadable mask as he observes me for a few silent seconds.

Bowing his body over mine, he presses a chaste kiss to my lips and backs away slowly. "I need to feel you now, Bella," he pleads, and the tender sound underlying the hoarseness of his tone makes my heart clench in my chest. _I will always give in to him_, I muse silently. I know it's true, no use in putting up a fight, not that I want to anyway.

With a sharp jerk, I nod my assent, and he moves away from me. Standing up, he reaches behind his back and peels the fabric of his shirt away from his body. I stare blatantly, wantonly at him. His body is all sharp curves, deep muscles and ridges that slant towards defined hips that disappear below his jeans. I lick my lips eagerly, but my heart beats an unsteady rhythm and my hands begin to tremble. I close my eyes and try to gain control over the rising bubble of anxiety that's building in my quaking frame. Even after over three months of being with him intimately and knowing him for six months altogether, I still haven't become fully desensitized. I don't know if I ever will. The haunting recollections of years past slink away in darkened corners, waiting for their chance to materialize and seize me with fear. I always feel like I'm chasing the light.

Easily, I recall the first time he had ever approached me on a sexual level. Just his fingertips on the bare skin of my shoulders was enough to make me shriek and cower below him, tears forcing their way to the surface as I thrashed and tried to get away. His voice had sounded so small when he said, "I never want to hurt you, Bella. I'm sorry, I thought you were feeling it, too." I had felt like an idiot afterward, he had only placed his hand on my shoulder and you could have sworn he was trying to murder me. And he was right, I had wanted him to kiss me then, I even leaned in.

It's not as bad anymore.

I'm catapulted into the present by the popping buttons on his jeans as he takes his time undoing each one down the fly of his pants. I gulp, my eyes wide and searching. He looks down at me, a deep line wedging itself in between his furrowed brows as he kicks off his black boots.

"Are you sure you're up for this today? You seem more distracted than usual," he remarks worriedly.

"You're the only good part of my day," I mumble with a feeble voice while shrugging, hating how vulnerable it makes me sound, but feeling like _he_ needs to know just how important he is, letting him know I care.

The corner of his mouth twitches marginally, hinting at his relief or amusement, and his eyes light up with a remarkable brightness. The stark green meets the crinkled alabaster skin around his eyes and I grin up at him. I only get a chance to witness his happiness occasionally. It's these kind of memories I want to grasp onto and tuck away for safe keeping, memories of his eyes alight with fire and joy that I use to chase away the murky darkness of less fond times in my life.

He pushes his jeans over his thighs and I watch enraptured, studying the way the muscles of his thighs contract and relax as he steps out of his jeans and slides them across the floor with his socked feet. Reaching into his leather jacket, he withdraws a condom and comes back to kneel between my parted legs. I close my eyes as I always do, not yet able to see his uncovered body in its entirety while he rolls the condom on. This is nothing new for us and he accepts that I can't watch, that it has nothing to do with him, only my own unspoken limitation. The snap of his boxer briefs and the rip of the condom wrapper aren't lost on me, and all my appendages cease movement, an overwhelming tension rolling beneath my skin as goosebumps spring out across my flesh.

With my eyes squeezed firmly together, he undoes the buttons of my shirt leisurely, his nimble fingertips a calming presence on my naked skin. Taking his time, he unhurriedly drags my jeans over my legs, followed shortly thereafter by my underwear. I gasp when I feel him at my entrance and press my lips into a thin line, focusing on my mantra. He stills immediately and I relax marginally as the pads of his thumb ghost over the welded lids of my eyes. I blink them open slowly and he's inches away from my face, his glacier stare burning deeply into me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he whispers, and I soften instantly. He's so attentive. He knows my body and my actions better than he knows me.

I nod, but he shakes his head. "I need to hear you say it, Bella. Tell me this is okay," he requests, his breath a mixture of peppermint and natural spices that fans around my face and I inhale it, using it like a soothing balm to melt away my trepidation.

I reach up and place my palm against his cheek, sighing heavily as I stare up at this boy lost in a man's body. He leans into my touch and kisses the tip of my thumb in the loving and tender way only he can. He's so undeniably beautiful. Irrationally, I realize I'd kill the bitch that hurt him if she wasn't already dead. I hope she's rotting in hell or wherever the fuck dead people rot. Sighing again, I run my fingers through the coarse hair lining his jaw and quietly say, "You know it is, but yes, _this_ is okay."

With that, he leans down to kiss me deeply and pulls away only when were both gasping for air and driven by lust. Next, his words are tracing over my lips, the same sentence he says before each encounter,"You can always say no. It's your choice."

It always seems to surprise me though, that he knows what I experienced without an acknowledgement or explanation ever coming directly from me. I love that he tells me the option is mine, constantly giving me a way out, even though my lips and hips have already told him to proceed. So, in return, I always reply, "Thank you, and I know it's my choice. I want you."

Just before he leans in to cover my mouth with his own, he smiles a full and toothy grin, turning my insides to molten goo. Gradually, he sinks into me until our hips meet and a guttural cry escapes us both, caught between our molded lips. Hooking his finger inside the cup of my bra, he folds the pale satiny fabric below the swell of my breast, allowing him immediate access to the puckered flesh reaching up to greet him. He places delicate kisses along the sensitive skin and when his tongue draws my nipple into his mouth, my back arches off the floor as I pull his head closer to me, needing the phantom space to disappear between us. With measured and deliberate thrusts, he moves in and out of me slowly, surely. He's always so careful with me. Leaning back up to look at me, he softly demands, "Stay with me."

To most, I'm sure that statement would cause an extreme amount of happiness, meaning he wanted me to lay with him after or be his girlfriend or some other form of keeping one person in close proximity to the other at all times. Between he and I, it just meant that he didn't want me getting trapped away in the dismal crevices of my mind, submitting myself to the horrible images of traitorous scenes, ones that I lived day in and day out for over two years and can't ever seem to escape, even now. However, the shit we smoked today was good, and my mind is at peace. No onslaught of unwelcome recollections, only _Edward_ and me, our bodies writhing together with a common goal.

With his merciful pace, torturous but utterly arousing, I'd wrap my limbs around him as we climbed higher and higher together. The static and building of pressure starts deep inside me, growing and unfurling as it radiates its blissful explosion all the way from the prickling of my scalp to the last nerve ending in the tips of my toes. He always makes sure I come unraveled first, and then I watch captivated as his eyes screw shut, his taunt jaw clenches, and his lips eventually part and softly speak my name. Satiated and spent, we draw our clothes back to our bodies and I rest my head on his chest while his fingers comb rhythmically through the wavy tresses of my hair. The steady _thump thump_ _thump _of his heart lulls me into a few minutes of deep sleep.

I wake with a start, my breathing erratic as I shiver against the cool bite of the air and the tormenting imagery in my head. He jostles below me and apologizes, "Sorry, Bella, I must have dozed, too. Another nightmare?" I nod and look up, the moisture in my eyes blurring my vision and he looks just as disturbed. I wonder if he has bad dreams as well. I would soothe away his memories also; that is if I knew what they were and he would let me.

Simultaneously, we both turn to look out the tiny window above us, the setting sun long gone and all that's left is the noises of the forest life surrounding us. The leaves and branches bristle against the wall as a whistling wind rips through the narrowed space and I huddle closer to Edward's warmth. He tucks me into his side and presses a kiss against my temple. I grin like a fool against his chest. I love and hate the supplementary flutter in my stomach, the way it flips over itself and tickles from the inside with some untold emotion. This is new, and I don't really know what to make of it.

We don't usually stay out past twilight, but his unusual slumber has left us in a world blanketed in black. My pulse instantly starts to race as my alarm over being clothed in shadows causes me to feel like I'm suffocating. My fingers wander under the hem of his shirt and once I apply pressure and feel the shock of his skin against mine, I'm able to breathe a little easier.

"Let's get you home," he states, squeezing my shoulder with his hand. The actions appears to be affectionate, but then again, I don't know much about that. I only remember the loving caresses Charlie gave me, but these touches don't quite feel the same, nor does the response his gentle embrace elicits from me.

I stand behind him as he drops the rope ladder to the ground and trapezes down the twenty foot drop with ease. He holds the swinging rope steady while I descend and once my feet are safely on the ground, he reaches his hand out to me and we head toward my house. The tall street light shining in the distance calls to me like a beacon of hope, letting relief spread through my body that I'll be bathed in light soon enough. Then again, the strong and sturdy frame at my side is a sparkling aura in his own way. I like the security he provides, but even my attachment to him scares me a little.

Pulling a lightly packed joint from his pants pocket and a lighter from his jacket, he lights it up, takes a quick draw, and passes it to me. We usually smoke the little ones after sex, to take some of the edge off for the rest of the night but not enough to make our appendages feel like lead weights. I also suspect he doesn't want to be completely blazed when he gets home. Again, I find myself inquisitive about his parents and the life he has outside of our deer-stand. I know from school, he has a brother and sister through his adoptive family, but I don't know much else.

Wordlessly, we trek over fallen tree limbs and the dead leaves that are scattered on the ground until we emerge safely into my backyard. I look up at Charlie's house, now lived in by my god-father Billy Black and me, as it stands alone at the end of the street. _Alone, just like me_, I tack on silently. The back porch light is still lit thanks to me, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding as we continue to walk toward the glowing lamp. We stroll around toward the front side of the house and he lets my fingertips slip from his grasp. Stopping short of the door, he takes a seat on the stairs and pats the space beside him.

This isn't our customary goodbye and I find myself struggling to swallow around the large lump forming in my throat. My mind is racing a million miles a minute trying to figure out why he's deviated from our unspoken arrangement. _Does this mean he wants to talk? Is he planning on telling me that we can't hang out anymore? Has he found someone that's not broken like me, someone that doesn't want him to spend time with me anymore? _They are all bad scenarios, the end of our union, and I'm coming apart at the seams. I may not _know_ him, but already I know I can't bear to be without him.

Like always, he picks up on my hesitance and absolute distress. He smiles a full grin, the one that never fails to heat my blood to volcanic levels and I go weak in the knees. He raises his hand in the air, palm up, and extends it in my direction. I pick at my bottom lip, rolling it between my fingers while biting the inside of my cheek, and move guardedly to take his hand. I could run, but something about him and the sudden bursts of light he exudes makes me want to stay. _I always seem to be chasing the light._

Reluctantly, I fold my knees below me and drop to the cold concrete of the step, sitting beside him. He brushes his thumb over the back of my knuckles, watching the sweeping movement of his own finger with rapt attention, and then his gaze travels upward to meet mine. For the first time, he looks really nervous, and I can only hear the pulsing of my heart thundering in my ears. With my free hand, I run it distractedly over my thigh, up and down, up and down. _Please, oh please, don't say goodbye for forever_, I beg inaudibly.

Taking a deep breath, his words come out jumbled and I can feel mouth drop open when the sentence registers in my befuddled brain. "Bella, I want you to ride to school with me on Monday." His piercing green stare is anxiously scanning my face for my reaction and I'm totally flabbergasted. My mouth moves open and closed, but I'm unable to make a sound besides the annoying smack of my lips. He bites his lip and tries to recover, "Um, shit, never-mind. Forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea."

But I shake my head vehemently from left to right, a large grin enveloping my face. Finally, the connection from my brain to my mouth begins to work and I mumble, "No, not stupid at all. I'd... I'd really like that."

His fingers grip my hand as a large whoosh of air pushes between his supple pout. "Yeah?" he questions, his eyebrows arching toward his hairline while his telltale smirk gradually turns up the edge of his lips.

"Yeah," I answer, my voice coming out breathy and unfamiliar. My eyes are dancing and my heart is rejoicing, and I find myself in an unexplored territory. What does this mean for us now? I chastise myself, _It's not always about labels, Bella. You've never tried to categorize your relationship before. Enjoy something for once. Finally have joy that's all your own, unhindered by the past. Live in the motherfucking now already._

He releases my hand and stands to leave. I'm frozen in place on the steps, afraid to move away from this very spot for it all could turn out to be a dream. Remaining motionless, I'm still amazed at this new development between us. He doesn't have many friends, and always sits alone in all our classes at school and in the cafeteria, even separating himself from his siblings. Yet, he meets me everyday in our secluded location, and now he is asking to see me even outside of it. I'm soaring for the first time in a long time. This moment reminds me of how I used to feel when I was being lifted in Charlie's strong arms as he twirled me around and around until I was left breathless and dizzy. I'm positively weightless.

Intertwining his long fingers in my hair, he yanks playfully on my ponytail before he kisses my nose and says, "I'll meet ya the same time tomorrow. Sleep well."

I'm still stuck in my moment of awe so I offer a slight wave in return, polished off with a smile he'll never see because he already has his back to me, jogging off into the night toward his mansion the next street over. I watch silently until he ducks into the bushes and disappears completely before I'm able to get to my own wobbly feet. I feel so buoyant, almost like the swift breeze that's rushing up the street could easily pick me up and whisk me away. _Something tells me _this_ high isn't related to the fucking awesome weed I just smoked moments ago either._

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**A/N: **Please to be taking it easy on me. *pleading eyes* I don't know how often this will update, but I promise not to leave it untouched for too long.

I'd like to thank my constant beta and internet wifey, Rhi **(Live720)** for looking this over and encouraging me to post. I lean on her more often than I should.

Also, I'd like to send a big squeeze to my Sugah Momma, **georgeygirl**, for looking this over, providing her mad beta skills in general, and for offering valuable advice. Thanks, sweets.


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